


and at the end of time

by iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15327384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: “They call me the Magician,” he says breathlessly, smile bright as they barrel directly through the doors of a bright blue telephone box.Oskar stops, footsteps faltering only after a few steps inside, even as the door slams shut behind him, as he finally takes in the full, mismatched glory of the Magician's Tardis, fondly known as the Hyperion.When he finally stops gaping for long enough to turn around, Oskar finds that the Magician is looking at him, the expression on his youthful face fond and soft. “But you can call me Yang.”





	and at the end of time

**Author's Note:**

> alright so today someone (not naming any names but you know who you are) said doctor who au where yang's the doctor and reuenthal's his sexy companion and i cackled with laughter for a bit - but then my brain didn't shut up and i just wrote like. 2.5k in about 1.5 hours??? 
> 
> anyway here is something that's kind of in the theme of a doctor who fusion but not really? ~~also how many fics do i need to post before reuenthal/yang becomes a legit tag i SWEAR~~
> 
> tried to return to a previous style of writing, but i think it works in this verse ahhhhh. thank u for putting up with my trash you-who-must-not-be-named ♥ ~~now here's wonderwall~~

*

**_part one: oskar_ **

*

Oskar has a good life - he has a high paying, ludicrous job, three sets of high rise apartments scattered across three different cities and he never spends a night alone unless he wants to, with a revolving door of beautiful girlfriends.

So when he meets the man on a wet windy afternoon, who looks up at him with a shy smile and dark eyes that contain the galaxy, even he doesn’t know why he takes the hand he’s offered and just leaves everything behind.

*

“They call me the Magician,” he says breathlessly, smile bright as they barrel directly through the doors of a bright blue telephone box.

Oskar stops, footsteps faltering only after a few steps inside, even as the door slams shut behind him, as he finally takes in the full, mismatched glory of the Magician's Tardis, fondly known as the Hyperion.

When he finally stops gaping for long enough to turn around, Oskar finds that the Magician is looking at him, the expression on his youthful face fond and soft. “But you can call me Yang.”

*

Oskar slowly grows to love their adventures, which end more often with him and Yang hand in hand, running from a sudden explosion or baying enemies than he ever expected.

He learns to love all the different places they visit and all the different personalities he meets, always following half a step behind Yang.

He even ends up loving the loud wheeze as the Hyperion takes off, the go signal for a new destination, a new adventure, a new time and place.

But he never has to grow or learn or end up loving Yang though, because he already fell a long time ago, in that first brilliant instant when he took his hand.

*

Yang’s favourite pastime is letting the Hyperion drift silently in the nothingness of space. He would always open her doors and sit at the very edge, legs crossed beneath himself.

He can spend hours upon hours just staring into the vast emptiness, watching as distant suns burn bright, spilling sprinkles of gleaming light onto Yang’s face, reflecting like tiny supernovas in his dark, dark eyes.

Oskar will always sit down with him during times like these, close enough to feel Yang’s warmth, but not close enough to crowd. He’ll sit, still and patient, waiting for that brief moment when Yang looks at him and relaxes enough to lean across, offering the tiniest brush of his shoulder against Oskar’s own.

He will wait, no matter how long it takes, be it minutes or hours, for that one fleeting moment when he can look down and see nothing but himself reflected in Yang’s endless eyes.

*

“I’m older than you think,” Yang tells him gently the first time he tries to take Oskar back to earth.

Oskar crosses his arms, leaning against the Hyperion’s console and shrugs one shoulder. “So?”

Yang’s smile is soft but there’s a ripple of pain through his normally unreadable features that he doesn’t turn away fast enough to hide. “It’s best not to form any attachments.”

Oskar’s moved around the console in three quick steps and his lips are on Yang’s not even a heartbeat later. He cradles Yang’s face between his palms, fingertips against soft skin as he pours his feelings into that one kiss.

Yang tastes like sweet tea mixed with brandy, his favourite drink and one that Oskar’s learned to be able to make perfectly even with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.

“It’s too late,” he murmurs when they finally part, holding Yang close to his chest, feeling the flutter of his dual heartbeats when he skims his fingers down the side of Yang’s throat.

“Much too late,” Oskar repeats, soft, leaning down once more and this time Yang stands up on his tiptoes to meet him halfway.

*

There’s a yellowed, crinkled photo that Yang keeps in his desk drawer.

Oskar only sees it by accident when he’s in the room, trying to find the gold electronic pencil that also doubles as a ‘spooky meter’ when the cap is on the other side, which Yang needs right now for a very important purpose.

He takes it out of the drawer carefully, sliding it out from where it sits cradled between two notebooks. When he picks it up, he can't help but notice that the creases pressed into the paper make it look like someone had scrunched the photo up and then smoothed it back out.

Oskar spots Yang easily, familiar features unchanged, except for his hair which, in the photo, is long enough to fall into his eyes. He’s surrounded by five others, all wearing the same neat double-breasted uniform.

There’s one with round glasses standing at the back with his arms crossed, attempting to scowl, a cheerful pair in the front, one with freckles obvious enough to show even through the picture, his arms slung around the one who looks the youngest, barely more than a teenager.

The sole woman stands to Yang’s left, her lovely face half hidden by her hand as she tries to cover her laughter. Oskar’s attention is mostly fixed on the man who stands to the right of Yang though, tall and handsome, hair casually messy in a way that suggested deliberate effort - he’s looking down at Yang with an expression that Oskar knows all too well, because he wears the exact same look when he sees Yang, a soft, warm and loving gleam in his eyes.

The only difference is that, in this photo, Yang is looking right back up at this unknown man, and there’s a depth of feeling, of actual love, in that gaze that Oskar’s never ever seen directed at him.

*

There’s only a simple line of names and a date on the back when Oskar flips it open with shaking hands.

_Alex Caselnes, Julian Mintz, Dusty Attenborough, Walter von Schonkopf, Yang Wenli, Frederica Greenhill_

_13th Alliance Fleet, May 1945_

*

Oskar lingers in Yang’s office for so long that Yang himself ends up wandering in.

“Oh.” His eyes are wide when he takes in Oskar and the photo clutched in his hand.

Oskar forces a smile, handing the photo to Yang who takes it back with both hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, but it was just in the drawer and I -” He swallows and hesitates, watching how Yang smooths his thumb over the photo gently, eyes lowered and unreadable.

“Was he -” Oskar starts and then stops again. He breathes, inhaling and exhaling deeply once before he tries once more.

“Did you love him?”

The words are barely more than a whisper, but they fall heavily between them, feeling like they weigh down the very air.

Yang sighs and he’s still looking down at the photo, but now there’s a flare of pain in his eyes and it hurts Oskar almost like a physical blow.

“Yes,” Yang says. “Yes, I did.”

*

Oskar doesn’t ask Yang if he loves him.

He doesn’t need to after all, because he already knows the answer.

*

*

**_part two: yang_ **

*

It’s something instinctive, that moment when he turns around and comes face to face with the man who he’s seen haunting his dreams more than once.

Yang can only stare for a moment, eyes wide, feeling his breath catch in his throat when the other man smiles at him, the tilt of his lips almost painfully familiar.

He holds out his hand then and his heartbeats thunders against his chest when the man takes it without hesitation, skin so warm against Yang’s own.

He takes him away, running through the streets as the rain falls around them, listening to the faint rumble of destiny in the sky.

*

“I’m Oskar,” he introduces himself later, his damp hair pressing against his forehead as he rubs the towel through, a glimmer of warm humour in his eyes. “Oskar von Reuenthal.”

Yang can do nothing but smile and smile and smile, hiding his tears behind his mask, because finally, finally, finally he’s found him again.

*

Yang dreams of the past sometimes, waking up with tears on his cheeks and pain in his heart and Oskar’s name on his lips.

This Oskar is so familiar, yet subtly different at the same time.

His smiles are still more brilliant than any sun, his eyes are still the same dual colours of gold and blue, the same two colours that had once flown proudly on a banner in a time much too long ago.

This Oskar isn’t burdened by war and loss and grief though, like the one he once knew. This Oskar is an exploding supernova, bright and happy and so alive.

The guilt gnaws at him sometimes, wondering if he was guiding this Oskar down the wrong path again, the same path that led them both previously to nothing but destruction and pain and ruin and ultimately, the feel of Oskar’s lifeblood slowly seeping through his fingers to drip down into the wet, muddy earth.

But Yang is selfish and weak and while he does try, oh yes, he tries to push Oskar away, offering to take him home, back to the time and place he rightly should be, but in the end, he still lets Oskar stay, with him, where he truly belonged.

*

Oskar kisses him in the middle of the Hyperion’s control room, lips warm and soft.

They make love in Yang’s bed, Yang’s nails scratching down Oskar’s back when he comes, teeth sunk into his shoulder to stop himself from sobbing Oskar’s name.

It feels like a betrayal somehow - they might share the same name and have the same soul, but they’re also completely separate people. Right now, though, Yang still thinks of his Oskar, with his half-smirk and long hair, sitting astride his black mount with the blue and gold banner of his eagle crest fluttering in the wind behind him.

He remembers making love in front of a smokey wood fire during icy cold winter nights, Oskar kissing him softly and holding him close afterward, both of them wrapped in the thick, luscious pelt of a winter beast as Yang’s hands map his scars, new and old.

Yang remembers that he would lean down to press gentle kisses across each one, memorising them again in his heart, before one thing eventually leads to another and he ends up pressed into the pelt, clutching at Oskar’s shoulders again and mewling his name.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until this Oskar’s fingers brush across his cheeks before he gathers Yang into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks worried and concerned.

It’s only then that Yang realises with a soft hiccup that he’s falling in love again, or maybe, he thinks, he’d already long since fallen in love all those months back, from that first moment when Oskar had trusted him without a word and taken his hand.

*

Walter had loved him, of this Yang has no doubt.

Yang had also loved him as well, in his own way. However, even when they were together, there had always been another person between them, unspoken of, but always there, in the hazy shape of Oskar von Reuenthal.

Walter’s love had been like the first bud of spring unfurling its petals, sweet and soft and gentle, slowly laying siege to Yang’s heart. He had courted Yang gently but determinedly with badly written poetry and even worse bottles of moonshine.

“I made it myself, from a top-secret recipe passed down through the generations,” he had boasted once, brushing his fingers over the red flush across Yang’s cheeks, the result of drinking a copious amount of this so-called ‘top-secret recipe’.

Yang had laughed then, loud and bright and he had let Walter pull him close, falling into his arms easily.

Afterward, Walter had stroked his hair away from his face, kissing his forehead, his cheeks before landing a light kiss on his lips.

“I know that you can’t love me, not in the way that I want,” he had said then, grey eyes soft and fond despite everything. “But I don’t care. I’ll have you for as long as you’re willing to stay.”

And Yang, who had been lonely for too long, was it centuries or millennia now, he can’t even tell, decides to stay for a while, if only because he has nowhere else to go.

*

“Will you miss me?” Walter asks him one night,

It’s the 31st day of May and their fleet has been commanded to lay a trap for the enemy forces, right in the middle of neutral territory. Walter has always headed the infantry division and Yang has always stayed in the backlines in HQ to plan and counteract enemy movements.

This time it’s no different except that Yang has seen the outcome already, ten, twenty, thirty times and no matter how he tries, he finds that even he, the one they call the Magician, cannot alter fate after all.

Walter gets dressed, pulling on his uniform without hurry, even as Yang draws up the sheets to cover his naked body. He returns to settle on the edge of the bed after he’s done, boots laced and ready to deploy.

Yang swallows as he stares at Walter, who’s not a replacement for Oskar, no matter what he thinks.

“I know you’ll leave me one day to return to him,” Walter murmurs to him, gathering Yang into his arms for one last hug, fingers stroking through the dark hair that brushes against the shoulder of his uniform jacket. “So every extra day I have with you is one I count as a blessed gift because I love -”

Yang kisses him then, not wanting him to say anything else.

Walter smiles into the kiss for one long moment before he breaks it, leaning back to reach into his breast pocket. He pulls out a photo and places it into Yang’s hand, closing his fingers over it. “Here, keep this safe for me until I return.”

Yang looks down and sees the photo that they had taken only mere days ago, one of him surrounded by his closest and most cherished friends. Walter is already standing now, pressing one last kiss to Yang’s forehead before he walks out of Yang’s life for the last time.

Yang closes his eyes and holds the photo to his heart, curling his body around it.

“I love you too, Walter,” he says then, those words spoken for the first time out loud but it’s already much too late.

*

Oskar leaves and it’s raining and Yang hates the rain so much.

It had been raining the day Oskar had died. Yang remembers kneeling for hours on the battlefield afterward, shivering and wet as he held Oskar’s long cold body close.

It had been raining when they had buried him, with full honours as they flew his banner one last time, a fitting final tribute for a Knight of the Table. Because no matter what sort of treachery that the other knights had accused him of, in the end, there was no nobler cause than to give one’s life for one’s liege.

Yang hadn't heard a single platitude back then, from where he had sat on the throne, as the rest of his knights formed an honour guard to guide Oskar to his final resting place.

It rains now, pouring down as Oskar leans in, kissing him for the last time, sweet and slow.

“Goodbye, my Magician,” he says and his lips curve in a smile that’s so painfully soft, warm fingers brushing Yang’s hair away from his eyes.

“I love you.”

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [here on tumblr](https://fortress-of-iserlohn.tumblr.com) :D


End file.
